


Doctor’s Orders

by alienarchivist



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Platonic Romance, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 10:32:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18519643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienarchivist/pseuds/alienarchivist
Summary: Shepard finds herself ill before a mission and Mordin insists on taking care of the stubborn commander.





	Doctor’s Orders

“Shepard, can I come in?”

“I'm a little busy at the moment.”

The doors to the captain's cabin opened swiftly, and in walked an unhesitant Mordin. Shepard was over by her personal armor locker, and she briefly glanced up at him as he drew nearer.

“But yeah, sure, come on in anyway.”

She wasn't exactly indecent, but she was only sporting half of her uniform while she busied herself fiddling with her equipment. Usually it didn't take her this long to prepare for a mission, but today she found herself with an unpleasant case of congestion, and every so often she would have to stop what she was doing to relieve her nose of the excess mucus. She sniffled again and glanced at her box of tissues across the room, which was almost completely empty.

The salarian scientist approached his commander with a look of worry etched in the wrinkles of his face. “Doctor Chakwas said you were sick. Also refusing treatment? Cause for concern.”

“It's just a cold. Humans get them all the time. It's no big deal.” She was momentarily interrupted by a small coughing fit, throwing her hands up to cover her mouth. When she finished, she cleared her throat. “I'm fine.”

“All the same, still recommend receiving treatment.”

“I have missions that take priority. What are you doing?”

Mordin had stepped closer and was now holding his hand against her forehead.

“Elevated temperature. Not head cold. Most likely influenza.” He looked her over some more, making an assessment of her condition. Shepard could almost see those brilliant cognitive gears grinding. “How long have symptoms persisted?”

“It's been a couple days, but these things usually linger so I wasn't worried about it.”

“Been getting worse?”

“I don't know. Maybe.” She didn't sound too confident in her response.

“Sit,” he insisted, gesturing towards her bed.

“I said I'm fine.”

“ _Sit._ ” He placed a hand on her shoulder and gently guided her over to sit down. It was then that Shepard noticed he had brought some tools with him, and he began lining them up on the mattress next to her. He plucked a tongue depressor and a small cylindrical flashlight from the group and held them both up to her. “Open, please.”

She obediently opened her mouth and let him place the flat, wooden stick on her tongue. Mordin leaned down to peer inside, utilizing the flashlight to illuminate the dark crevices of her throat. She swallowed instinctively and tried to focus her gaze on the cabin wall behind his head.

“Throat been itching? Soreness?” he asked as he released her tongue at last.

“A little bit.” Shepard shrugged.

Mordin inhaled a short breath through his nose and laid the tools beside her again, retrieving instead a slightly larger device. This one he placed against her temple without prompt, resting his free hand on her adjacent shoulder to stay her.

After a few seconds, the device made a beeping sound and he took it from her, peering down at the results on the digital screen.

“101.4 degrees Fahrenheit. Moderate fever. Definitely influenza. Recommend not going planetside. Stay here. Lots of rest and fluids.”

“But the missions—”

“Can wait. Health of commanding officer much more important.”

“Stop fussing, I'm fine! Really, I, uh—Whoa…—!” Shepard stood up too quickly and wobbled dangerously, reaching out for Mordin in reflex. He swooped in to catch her waist and pull her towards him, keeping her steady.

“Shepard?”

“Felt like my legs were gonna give out for a second there...”

“Muscle weakness. Another symptom of influenza. And another good reason to stay in bed. Here, lie down.” He moved around her to the side of her bed and pulled back the covers.

“Mordin—”

“Shepard, please. You need rest.”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “Why can't you just trust me?”

“Do trust you! Trust that you are stubborn. Don't always know what is good for your own health. Also trust that you will heed advice to _lie down_. Please.”

She sighed again, defeated this time, and slid into bed with the doctor's help. Using careful consideration, he pulled the heavy comforter away, drew the thinner sheets up to her neck and adjusted the pillow behind her head.

“Very good. Now, best way to break fever is sufficient amount of sleep.”

“Yes, Mom,” Shepard replied sarcastically.

Mordin didn't seem to notice her retort as he was transferring his tools from her bed to the bedside table. “Be right back,” he said, and headed towards her bathroom, disappearing inside.

She stared up at the ceiling, contemplating her situation. She knew she must get better as soon as possible. She was a soldier and she was meant to fight, not lie in bed all day. The truth was she was so hell-bent on doing her duty that she had no idea her physical condition had declined so greatly. But as she laid there in the brisk cabin, she started to feel the wave of sickness wash over her, and she didn’t like it at all.

Suddenly Shepard started to chill, and she reached for the comforter that Mordin neglected to cover her with, draping it over her shivering body.

Mordin returned in no time at all, and he carried with him a bit of cloth that he wetted in the sink. When his eyes came to rest on the commander, his brow furrowed. He made his way back to her and set the cloth down. His hands grasped the comforter and pulled it away from her again.

“What are you doing?!”

“Want to avoid heavy covers,” Mordin responded curtly. “Don’t want to trap heat inside the body.”

“But I’m freezing…!”

“Cold chills. Common symptom of core temperature elevation. Must remain uncovered regardless. Risk worsening fever otherwise.”

“So I’m just supposed to suffer like this?”

Mordin gave her a sympathetic look as he adjusted the thin sheets the best he could. “Know it’s unpleasant, but I assure you it’s for the best.” He reached for the wet cloth and folded it before delicately positioning it on her forehead. “You will be fine. Promise.”

Shepard gazed up at him, and for a short moment their eyes locked. There was a deep compassion in those amber orbs that moved her. At length, she sighed, readjusting her position under the sheets so that she was more comfortable.

“What if I need to get something?” she asked after a fairly prolonged pause.

“Will be right here if you need me. At your beck and call until you feel better.” His creased lips formed a kind smile.

“I like the sound of that.” She smiled softly in turn.

Mordin seated himself in one of the chairs near her bed. He had brought a data pad with him, and he began working on something on its translucent screen, his gloved fingers scrolling through a myriad of statistics that, as Shepard squinted to see better, made no sense to her whatsoever. Yet she continued to watch him in this manner for some time, entranced by the movement of his slender hands.

“Mordin?” she called out to him timidly. She hated to disturb him while he was busy, but she needed him already.

He turned sharply to face her. “Yes?”

“Could you turn on some music? It’s too quiet in here.”

“Certainly.” The salarian doctor rose and maneuvered around her bed to the alarm device on the adjacent nightstand. He cycled through the stations until he settled on the one he found most soothing; a serene, electronic melody filled the room. “How’s this?”

“Perfect.” Shepard closed her eyes and tried to ignore the chills still shooting through her body every now and then. She could hear the faint sounds of Mordin’s footsteps as he returned to his place beside her. No doubt he dove straight back into that data pad of his. She thought to look, but her eyelids were getting so heavy. The harmonious music echoed pleasantly in her ears, and before she knew it, she had fallen fast asleep.

Mordin glanced at her quite frequently. Her chills quaked her even in her slumber. It concerned him at first, but as the minutes turned into hours, she stirred less and less. When she had finally become still, he departed, and he returned only a brief moment later with a glass of ice-cold water in hand. He set it on the nightstand and moved towards her, leaning over her to view her sleeping frame.

It was a strange thing, he thought to himself, how peaceful she looked. During the day, she was a strong, confident, and capable soldier, fearless in the face of danger. She was a force of nature and not to be trifled with. What lay before him now, however, was merely a woman. He couldn’t help but smile fondly at the tranquil, sleeping face of his patient.

No, but she was more than that. As this thought crossed his mind, Mordin leaned down and placed a tender kiss on her forehead.

“Fever seems to be reducing,” he said quietly to himself. He noticed a stray strand of hair on her brow and gently pushed it aside with his hand. “Told you you would be fine.”

Then, taking one last long look at his commander, he turned away and went back to his chair. He had no intention of leaving again; he needed to be there for the inevitable battle when she awoke and insisted that she was well enough to return to her missions. He knew better. He was a doctor, after all.


End file.
